


Jack Frost

by eponymous_rose



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: 100-1000 Words, 1960s, Action/Adventure, Canon - TV, Drama, Friendship, Gen, POV Third Person, Spies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymous_rose/pseuds/eponymous_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter as always, cold on the windowpanes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack Frost

"They say you can see stories on the window during a night like this," Napoleon said, idly tracing a finger against the chilled glass, leaving streaks of condensation on the pane. "Shapes left by Jack Frost."

Illya lowered the binoculars. "I don't think they've moved yet, but there was a signal of some sort further up the mountain."

"They won't move out tonight," Napoleon protested, and grinned at his partner's quizzical glance. "It's too cold."

Rolling his eyes, Illya went back to the binoculars. "For someone so warm-blooded, Napoleon, your fascination with this frost is strange."

Napoleon shrugged, leaning against the wooden wall of the cabin. "Just something I used to do as a kid: make up stories about the shapes in the frost on the windowpanes."

With a noncommittal grunt, Illya moved to the next window down. "They are moving. Like I said."

Napoleon squinted past him into the cool, clear night. "I'll bet they're just trying to find a better shelter from the cold. Not everyone has ice in their veins, _tovarisch_."

Illya glanced up. "Well," he said, and his voice was challenging. "What do you see in the frost that's so important, then?"

Napoleon shrugged, keeping an eye on the distant figures, black against the new snow. "Faces, mostly. Look-" He pointed out a particularly prominent caricature in the ice on the window. "That could be the Old Man himself."

That elicited a faint grin. "I am amazed you didn't pick out a beautiful woman to start with."

"Oh, she's over here," said Napoleon, tracing another tiny explosion of ice crystals, and paused, frowning. "Hanging on Waverly's arm."

Though Illya's face was carefully expressionless, his eyes betrayed a glint of good humour, and Napoleon felt his own shoulders relax - it was the waiting that got to both of them. "Your stories leave something to be desired, my friend."

"You're telling me," Napoleon said, and grinned as the distant forms seemed to settle into a solid mass once more. "Look, what'd I tell you? They're hunkering down for the night, just moving around to get more comfortable."

Illya peered through the binoculars again, then sighed. "All right," he said. "Your American weakness to the cold appears to be catching."

"Gee," said Napoleon. "Thanks."

They were silent for a long moment, during which Illya peered resolutely into the binoculars as though to make the distant agents move through force of will alone. Napoleon found his gaze drawn to the icy lines on the window. "What do you see in the frost?" he asked finally.

Illya glanced up, long-suffering. "Napoleon-"

Napoleon held up his hands. "I'm just curious. It'll help pass the time, if nothing else."

Raising an eyebrow, Illya turned back to the windowpane, and for a moment Napoleon thought he was about to ignore the whole thing and go back to his silent vigil. "I see lines," he said eventually, and waved a hand at the window. "Lines and patterns. That's it."

"Oh, come on," Napoleon said. "That can't be all. You're not even trying."

When Illya glanced back at him, there was something deliberately unreadable in his eyes, something like a carefully-constructed piece of code, an abstract bit of nonsense in the midst of clarity, and then his gaze slipped back to the window, drifting, as though searching.

"I see ships," he said at last, and traced a hand over the bright, sparkling mural of frost. "Ships with torn sails, buffeted by waves." His fingers came to rest on a whorl of ice just as his eyes settled on his partner. "I see violence, Napoleon. Violence and disaster. That's all there's ever been in winter."

It took some time for Napoleon to realise he was holding his breath, and by the time he expelled it, the moment was lost. "Look," said Illya, pointing out to the distant shapes. "They are moving in tonight, after all."

And, conceding defeat, Napoleon prepared for the next battle.


End file.
